


Twist of the Knife

by ThatWouldBee_Enough



Series: Kinktober 2020 [10]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Blood, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWouldBee_Enough/pseuds/ThatWouldBee_Enough
Summary: John Laurens, the heir to his kingdom's throne, has been kidnapped by a boy who has recently come to work at the palace. Alexander decides to indulge in some fun before he trades him for a ransom.-----------------------Prompt 10 - Knifeplay - lams**mind the tags**
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Kinktober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947364
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	Twist of the Knife

“Release me at once!” John yells at his captor as soon as the gag is yanked roughly from his mouth. He’s not sure how long he’s been gone from the palace. All he remembers is falling asleep the night before, a little bit off kilter as he prepared for bed, drowsier and almost like he was drunk, but otherwise noticing nothing out of the ordinary. 

Then he woke here– head pounding, throat dry, and entire world still fuzzy around the edges. There are no windows in the room where he lays trussed up on the floor, so it’s impossible to tell what time of day it is, though the room isn’t completely bare. There’s scattered furniture– chairs, a settee, a low table, some bookshelves lining the wall– some sort of sitting room perhaps. 

There’s only one other occupant. A boy, maybe a year or two younger than himself, now standing once again with the cloth gag still grasped in one hand. All John can really see of him from this angle are leather boots that look heavily worn. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” The answering voice is cold, callous, and it’s the first time John is hearing it since waking up. He tries to roll onto his back a little to get a better look at his face, but the movement just sends a sharp pang through his bound wrists, so he grunts and shifts back onto his side. “Struggling is pointless, you know. Even if you could get out of those ropes, which I highly doubt, the door is locked. There’s nowhere for you to go, your Highness.” He says the last bit with a mocking sneer and then paces over to a nearby chair, dropping down casually. 

“You’ll be killed for this,” John tries instead. He can see more of the boy now, his crossed legs and narrow hips, but still he can’t see his face. He needs a better view. Needs to figure out if he can identify this criminal. “This is treason. If you let me go now, I’ll ensure no harm comes to you,” he lies. But he knows he possesses an earnest face, a genuine voice. He’s always been good at convincing others of things. It’s a gift his father has urged him to utilize in their negotiations with neighboring kingdoms. 

“So you can run back to the palace alive and safe and have the guards come search for me? I think not.” Damn. John squirms against the bonds again, but they’re incredibly well crafted. Not an inch of give. “No, I rather like my chances as they stand. I am willing to bet that your father wants you back alive. His precious heir, the crown prince.” Again that mocking undertone. “I haven’t gone to all the trouble of acquiring you just to send you back home with no compensation.”

“So this is for money?” John spits the words at him bitterly. Of course. Just another petty thief after some gold. The world is filled with them after all. 

“Of _course_ it’s for money!” 

John blinks in surprise at the venom in his voice. He actually sounds _angry_ now. That’s something he was not expecting. 

“Do you even realize how the people of this kingdom are struggling while your family sits on gilded thrones and stuffs your faces with the finest food and wine? It’s infuriating. As if you’re worthy of all of that luxury while the masses are starving just because of the luck of the draw, the family you were born into.”

“The royal family has been appointed by God to rule.”

“Says you,” he retorts with unrestrained rancor. When John doesn’t respond right away, he continues. “Yes, I’m doing this for money. Because I’m tired of going to bed with an empty stomach. I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand.”

In the heavy silence that follows, John tries to imagine the hardships he’s speaking of. He’s aware their kingdom isn’t perfect of course. He knows of droughts and bad crop seasons, sickness, thieves and criminals inflicting occasional damage in the villages. But none of that could be considered _his_ fault. He swallows down his protests, gathering by now that his captor isn’t in a sympathetic mood. “Why are you even here?” he asks instead. “Now that you have me, shouldn’t you be arranging for an exchange?” 

He lets out a cold laugh. “Do you not appreciate my company, your Highness?” John watches as he stands again, slowly makes his way closer. There’s a moment of stillness, tension, and then he drops down to his knees, just inches away from John’s bound body and now– finally– completely within his view. 

“I know you–” The recognition is sudden, yet vague. He knows immediately that this is not a stranger, but the exact reason for the familiarity is lost on him at first. Like trying to grasp the remnant of a quickly fading dream. John scrunches his brow, wracking his brain for _why_ this boy– this boy with the high cheekbones and large, dark eyes– is so familiar. Finally, it hits him. He has recently come to work as a clerk under the marshal. The name comes to him suddenly, and he’s surprised because he doesn’t even remember learning it. “Alexander?”

There’s a flicker of something in the boy’s expression, but he doesn’t let it replace the hard mask he’s wearing now. “I _was_ planning on simply arranging for your ransom of course,” he says quietly, and when he adjusts his seat John sees a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He focuses in and sees a silver dagger gripped in one of Alexander’s hands. “But then I thought, why not have a little fun first? After all, it’s not everyday I have a boy this pretty at my mercy.”

John’s throat goes dry. Alexander can’t possibly mean what he thinks he means. “You’ll get a better reward if I’m returned unharmed.” He tries to keep his voice steady, confident, assured, but the panic is rising quickly in his chest. 

Alexander’s smile is malicious now as he drinks in John’s shifting mood. As if he can taste the fear in the air. “Your father will pay _whatever_ I ask to get you back alive. That’s what’s most important, isn’t it? That you’re alive to take over the throne and continue his legacy of bland leadership and exploiting the people of your kingdom so you can ensure your own luxurious lifestyle lives on? Yes, I’m sure he won’t be too pleased to hear of any mistreatment, but what does it matter when the other option is his favorite son returned only to be buried?” John flinches when the hand with the dagger moves closer. Alexander responds with a quiet laugh, resting the cold steel to his cheek. He can feel his heart racing when the other hand comes to his throat, fingers pressing lightly at his pulse point. “Not so brave without your guards and all the protections that come with being royalty, are you? I’m not entirely convinced you won’t pass out before we get to anything good, you’re looking quite pale.” 

“I’m not afraid of you!” John’s heart pounds faster behind his ribs as his voice raises in retaliation. He knows there will be a consequence for such blatant rebellion, but he’s still not quite prepared when Alexander angles the blade and presses down to trace a delicate line along his cheek. He sucks in a sharp gasp at the stinging cut, feeling the blood beading up along its path. 

“Perhaps you should be.” 

He trails the blade lower now– not pressing hard enough to slice the skin, but the presence alone makes the threat clear– and then rests it at his throat. John starts doing the mental calculations, trying to figure out the chances of coming out on the other side of this with as little physical harm as possible. Wondering just how much of his dignity he’ll have to sacrifice in the process. 

“Tell me, your highness. Are you a virgin?” 

John feels his cheek heat up at the question and keeps his lips firmly shut. 

But Alexander is not dissuaded. He lets out a delighted, knowing laugh. “You don’t need to worry about which answer is the smarter choice. Neither response would change my plans for you. Just be honest with me.” His tone is incredibly, infuriatingly smug, and it only makes John bite his tongue harder. 

Alexander sighs. “Have you not figured out yet that behaving is in your best interest?” He brings the dagger down to John’s chest now, but instead of slicing another gash into his skin, he dips the tip of the dagger below the collar of his nightshirt and drags it firmly downward, ripping the fabric in the process. Only once the garment is split down the middle nearly to his navel does Alexander lift the blade back up to the top of his chest, pressing slightly harder than before to draw another searing line of blood. As John hisses at the pain, Alexander brings the flat edge of the dagger under his chin and tilts his face up so their eyes are locked. “Now answer the question.”

John feels his breath quicken, but he can’t think of any way to avoid this humiliation with the dagger so threateningly poised. “Yes.” Those large, dark eyes drill into him now, as Alexander breaks out into a wicked smile. 

“Oh, excellent. Then this will be more entertaining than I imagined.” 

He grabs John by the shoulder with his free hand and shoves him roughly onto his stomach, drawing a surprised grunt from his lungs before he can vocalize his indignation, his bound wrists straining at the small of his back. Now that he has him in position, Alexander moves down his body to the ropes at his legs, trails the blade along the skin of his lower thigh. John feels the moment the sharp edge breaches the top layer of skin, and he barely stifles the sharp inhale of pain. 

Along with the pain though, there is a tingle of something _else_ as the cool steel draws so close to his more sensitive areas. He is glad his face is safely hidden against the floor, as uncomfortable as the position is, because it hides any potentially revealing expression that may have come across. 

When Alexander finally moves the dagger again, a thin line of blood following in its wake, he places it against the ropes. “This will be easier with your legs unbound. Don’t try anything, or this will be much, _much_ worse for you.” 

John takes a steadying breath as he feels the cold edge of the blade against the skin of his legs, then the tug of the rope, biting against him. The pressure builds for a moment, and then all at once the pull of the dagger releases his bonds, causing a rush of blood to flow fully back into his limbs. He does consider, for a moment, attempting an escape. It’s exactly the type of confident recklessness he would usually engage in, but as Alexander pointed out, he doesn’t have anyone else here to protect him. 

He leaves his legs where they are, reluctantly frozen to the ground. 

“There’s a good boy,” Alexander mocks, unwinding the rope and tossing it somewhere behind him. “I knew you had a brain in that pretty head. Now, stand up for me.” 

The movement is awkward without the use of his hands to push himself onto his feet, but he manages, first using the leverage against his shoulder to force himself into a kneeling position, and then stumbling onto shaky legs until he is completely upright. Alexander looks him up and down, examines him carefully, almost _hungrily_ , now that he can see his entire body. He steps forward, and John has to fight the instinctive urge to flinch away. 

A thumb comes up to his cheek, swipes through the hot blood still gathered there, then nudges at his lips. “Open,” he commands simply, bringing the dagger up to rest by his other cheek threateningly. 

John squeezes his eyes shut, but lets his lips part, tasting a sudden rush of salt as Alexander presses in deeper. It’s an accident– truly– when he slides his tongue along warm flesh, but it draws a low moan from Alexander’s throat. “You have a beautiful mouth,” he says, his voice low and rough with heat now. “I can’t wait to make thorough use of it.” 

John’s eyes shoot open, and he can’t help the flicker of fear now. The reaction only draws Alexander’s lips into a sadistic smirk, and he presses the flat side of the blade to his flesh, the contrast icy against his flushed face. “The brave Prince John,” he says with an edge of humor. “Strip away all the luxuries of the palace, the finery and the servants, the adoring court, and you’re really no different than the rest of us, are you?” 

John can’t respond past the digit resting on his tongue, but he huffs a sigh through his nose as he glares. These words are affecting him more than he’ll ever admit. It’s like Alexander has been able to see into all of his most insecure dreams and push to the forefront all of the thoughts that haunt him when he can’t sleep late night. Thoughts that he’s buried down because– what’s the alternative? He _is_ the heir to the throne. He’s going to inherit the crown and rule the kingdom. If he doesn’t embrace his role, the people of the kingdom will only suffer for it. He considers biting down hard on the thumb in his mouth, but the press of the blade to his face promises worse retribution. 

He only has a moment’s reprieve to be thankful when Alexander finally steps back, drawing his thumb out past parted lips, before he sits down on the settee and gives John a smug smile. “Come here.” 

John doesn’t budge. Just stares across the room, his jaw set in a firm line of defiance. 

The laugh that reaches his ears is almost fond. “You can stand there and play at rebellion if you wish– god knows I wouldn’t mind a bit of a fight to get my blood flowing– but this will be more pleasant for you if you behave. I thought we went over this already.”

“I could scream.” The thought comes to him suddenly, and it seems ridiculous that it didn’t occur before. 

“You could,” Alexander says with one raised brow, gentle amusement still touching the corners of his lips. “But there’s no one around to hear you. By all means, waste your energy though.” He leans back on the settee, tilts his head to the side and waits. 

There’s an uncomfortable tension in John’s jaw as he purses his lips, considering his options. He has no doubt Alexander is telling the truth. He doesn’t seem like one to cut corners on something so important. If there was anyone around to hear, Alexander would never have taken the gag off in the first place. So, he comes to the conclusion that there truly is no way out of this ordeal until he’s exchanged for a ransom and braces himself for what he knows he must do. 

It’s only a few short steps until he’s standing directly before Alexander again. He can feel the unsettling chill in his chest as he meets those eyes, the cruel glint reflecting off of them. For what feels like an eternity, Alexander doesn’t say anything, just watches, waits, like a predator biding his time until John makes a wrong move, gives him the opportunity to pounce. And John lacks the restraint to deny him. “Well? What do you want from me?”

It’s clearly the question Alexander has been waiting for. “I think if you’re going to address me, you should do so on your knees.” He lets the smug smile spread more fully across his face, parting his legs wider so there’s space in between his thighs. 

John grits his teeth and drops back down to the floor, his bare knees hitting the cold ground and causing him to shiver at both the temperature in his minimal state of dress and the trepidation at what’s to come. “Alright, what now?” he manages through the tension in his jaw. 

“I think you could handle being a bit more polite,” Alexander tells him, leaning forward to run a thumb along his cheekbone. The touch is almost gentle, and it’s a startling contrast to the blade which presses suddenly against the side of his throat, drawing a careful line upward. John flinches against the pain, but Alexander’s hand grips his face more firmly, holding him in place. “If you squirm too much, you’re going to make this significantly more dangerous. I don’t particularly care whether you live or die, your Highness. God knows no matter which member of the royal family takes the throne, it will make no difference in the lives of ordinary people. But I do want my payment and that’s unlikely to happen if you’re no longer breathing. For your sake and mine, don’t move about.”

What a reassuring notion, John thinks dryly, that Alexander doesn’t truly _want_ him dead. Still, he takes a deep breath as he can feel gravity trail a small droplet of blood down towards his collarbone. He notes Alexander watching it, almost mesmerized, tracing fingers parallel to its path. “You’ve always looked good in red,” he purrs lightly, bringing his hand lower to brush against the angry crimson line on his chest. He presses a little harder, increasing the pressure by increments until John’s heart is racing with the effort of staying still. He feels his body subconsciously drop down lower against his heels, grounding himself, but besides this small concession he doesn’t budge. 

“Mmm very good. Such restraint deserves a reward don’t you think?”

John has no delusions that whatever Alexander has in mind will be pleasant. 

“Answer me,” Alexander commands, and although John thought he had been pressing against the cut as hard as he could, he pushes his fingers impossibly more roughly against him, digging in at the fresh wound. John lets a sharp exhale escape past gritted teeth as his heart pounds in his throat. His racing pulse tastes like bile. 

He wants to answer no of course. Whatever games Alexander wants to play, _John_ wants no part of them. But his better instincts, his _survival instincts_ , are overriding everything else. He knows what Alexander wants to hear, and he knows that he needs to say it. Still, he can’t manage to put any enthusiasm into his response. “Yes.” 

Alexander’s lips curl into a delighted smile. His hands retreat, and he lays the dagger on the settee beside him. John eyes it cautiously and wishes more than ever that he had the use of his hands. As Alexander reaches for the laces of his trousers and works the knot undone, John fantasizes about snatching the dagger from its resting place, turning the tables on his captor and forcing him down against the settee, tying him up and bringing him back to the palace to await justice. Perhaps indulging in his own revenge first with that lithe body finally restrained and unable to fight back– 

_Wait_. No. He blinks against the sudden intrusive thought, shaking his head the tiniest bit. No, that’s not him. He doesn’t– he’s _never_ – engaged in petty schemes like this. He can’t say where that sudden, vile urge comes from, but the throb of blood in his own groin is unmistakable. He swallows hard and tries to push any unwanted arousal away. 

He’s so caught up in his own guilt that it takes him a moment to recognize that Alexander has pulled himself free, his cock already stiff from the sadistic tortures he’s inflicted thus far. 

“Your reward, your Highness.” The flash of teeth, the glint of wicked amusement in his eyes, the way his hand reaches for the dagger once again, gripping the hilt tightly with delicate fingers– it all ignites rage like fire in his veins. He does his best to ignore the fact that the heat only amplifies the hardness between his own thighs. It’s only adrenaline, he assures himself. 

Alexander brings his free hand forward, resting it at the back of John’s head and tugging him insistently forward. The head of his cock nudges lips that are pressed firmly closed, but the refusal doesn’t seem to bother Alexander. John can’t keep up with the game quick enough when he sees the pleased grin on his face, and then the blade of the dagger is pressed against his chest again, the sharp tip digging into his flesh, and John’s lips part on a pained yelp. It’s all the invitation Alexander needs to push inexorably forward into the wet heat of his mouth. 

John grunts a muffled sound of protest, but it fades into a sigh of relief when the pressure of the blade retreats. He can’t see past the intrusion to view how bad the latest cut is, but he feels a throbbing ache as warm blood gathers at the spot. At least the pain is something to focus on besides the chill against his skin and the violation pushing further past his lips, nudging the back of his throat. He gags instantly at the feeling, wet choking, sputtering sounds echoing around the room, but Alexander doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, John can just barely make out his pleased groan through his own louder, pained noises. _Of course_ he’s enjoying this. He tries to pull back off of the length impaling him, to get more space to breathe, but Alexander’s grip intensifies at the back of his head and holds him steady. John glares up through the tears that have sprung to his eyes. 

The fond laugh that breaks through the tension is infuriating, and instantly John is back to imagining all the things he would do if he had use of his hands. All the ways he could make his captor pay for this mistreatment. Though on the other side of his fantasies, Alexander has begun to fuck into his throat in earnest. It feels endless, the relentless, recurring, sharp thrusting against his insides, his throat constantly spasming and desperately gasping for any chance at breath he can get. He does his best to distance himself from reality. To calm his own racing heart. He almost gets to a point where he can ignore what’s happening when an intense, slicing pain radiates from his previously unscathed cheek. 

The new cut brings him sharply back to the moment with unwelcome clarity. His eyes shoot open, and he catches Alexander gazing down at him with frenzied arousal, his pupils blown as he watches the blood drip down John’s face like tears. The grip at the back of his head intensifies, fingers tangling into his curls, and he uses the leverage to thrust in and out of John’s mouth with abandon. The moans and grunts above him are increasing in volume now– further proof that Alexander was not lying when he said there was no concern of anyone overhearing them– and each intrusion deep in John’s throat is accompanied by a wounded, desperate sound. At this point, John no longer cares about the indignity of it all, he just wants the ordeal to be over with. He squeezes his eyes shut once again, unleashing a fresh barrage of tears. He can feel the salt sting against the open cut, but it’s not enough to distract him from the current abuse. Try as he might, he can’t escape the violation, even in the privacy of his own mind– it’s too consuming. 

When Alexander stills deep inside of his throat, he unleashes a stream of curses and malicious praises, the words becoming all but incoherent as he spills a warm gush of release down John’s throat. “You better not waste a drop,” Alexander spits down at him, the words like venom, his fingers tugging brutally against John’s scalp now. 

And the dagger is still clasped securely in his other hand, resting dangerously near John’s throat, so he swallows down his captor’s seed with difficulty, muscles working frantically around the length still impaling him. He feels his self respect slide down his throat with it, settling low and sickening in his stomach. 

Alexander stares down at him– smug satisfaction glowing on his face– for what feels like an eternity. Then, finally, he pulls himself roughly from John’s throat. 

John can’t help the gagging, coughing fit that overtakes him as too much air floods into his lungs all at once. 

When he finally settles, Alexander smiles down at him, almost gentle now that he’s done abusing him. It’s a cruel mockery of tenderness. He rests a hand against the side of John’s face and wipes at the mess with his thumb. When he pulls away, the tears clinging to his hand are mingled with blood, and he wipes them against the tattered remains of John’s nightshirt, staining it. 

“You’re truly marvelous,” he says, still panting as he catches his breath, and despite the earlier coldness the praise actually sounds genuine. John isn’t sure what to make of that. “Perhaps I should keep you instead. Have you tend to me whenever I please.” 

When John’s face twists into mortified horror, Alexander only laughs. “Not to worry, it’s only a fantasy. As glorious as your mouth is, I’d rather have the money.” John’s sigh of relief is cut off when Alexander’s thumb presses hard against the fresh cut on his face, sending a shock of unexpected pain through him. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be indulging in that beautiful ass of yours before I have to give you up, though.” He tucks himself away, lacing up his trousers once more, and stands. “I have some things to attend to, but don’t worry. I’ll be back to make _proper_ use of you shortly. Feel free to make yourself comfortable, but don’t get any of that filthy mess from your face on the settee.” 

As the door closes behind him with a resolute click, John allows himself to fall against the front of the settee, his full weight bearing down against it to stop him from dropping all the way to the floor. He closes his eyes shut tight and lets himself indulge in his own fantasy of revenge once again. Uninterrupted this time, he doesn’t stop himself from imagining all of the deliciously fucked up ways he could repay his captor for the violations against him. His cock throbs uncomfortably between his thighs, and he can’t ignore the base need to fulfill his own sick desires. Blatantly ignoring Alexander’s instructions _not_ to make a mess of the furniture, he rises up on his knees and presses his erection against the soft cushion, trapping it between his own body and the settee. The angle is awkward and the motion itself is difficult without the leverage of his hands, but he rubs himself against the piece of furniture in an anger-fueled frenzy as he imagines pounding into Alexander’s resisting body, and the pathetic friction is enough. He spills onto the velvety material with a desperate sob and then drops his weight back down, his head resting a few inches from his own seed as he tries to regulate his breathing. He glances at the closed door and feels the tears slip down his cheeks once again. There’s nothing to distract him from the nauseating anticipation now as he awaits his captor’s return. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for torturing John :( 
> 
> Please leave me comments anyway
> 
> I'm over on tumblr @ilovefoodandgirls


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